


The Next Step

by rivlee



Series: Live Fast, Die Old [2]
Category: Spartacus Series (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Domestic Fluff, Fluff, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-02-27
Updated: 2013-02-27
Packaged: 2017-12-03 19:37:19
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,115
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/701889
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rivlee/pseuds/rivlee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nasir loved this house.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Next Step

**Author's Note:**

> Happy domestic fluff b/c many people I know have had a shitty week.

There were many plans and visions Nasir Zaman had for his future. After the magical whirlwind of his first book being a success he dreamed of a life in a big city discovering his self the way all the literary greats were supposed to according to the legends. There was to be no long, winding road trip for Nasir, not when social media helped breed the frenzy around certain book series. His bright future turned into grey and beige nights and days of hotel rooms for book tours and interviews, drab coffee shop corners for some writing, and lots of silence when left on his own. He’d never managed to move out of his tiny apartment in Boston, despite a much nicer bank account than when he started college. 

Agron didn’t live in the city. He owned, _actually_ owned, a house just outside the urban suburbs surrounding Boston. It was old, historical, and clearly loved. It had flowerboxes and a backyard. It seemed so incongruous when compared to the man in the band t-shirts and worn jeans who lived there. It was tastefully decorated inside, comfortable, with old accents and lived-in window seats. Anyone could feel at home there. Nasir wondered if he’d ever had the privilege. Most days he didn’t think he deserved it, or even deserved _Agron_ , but somehow Agron was still at his side and Nasir had his own keys to his house held on a _Bleat Beats_ keychain.

Nasir had been an asshole during their first date. There was no other way to excuse or explain it. Nasir didn’t attach himself to people quickly; he panicked whenever it felt like someone was getting too close. It had felt intimate and comfortable with Agron from the beginning, as if they had lifetimes together long before that first meeting in a bookstore coffee shop. In reality, Agron only knew Nasir’s mind and heart through his books, from each page memorized and theory he could posit about the stories and Nasir’s intentions. When they had they dinner though, Agron treated him like Nasir Zaman the man and not Nasir Zaman the author. It confused Nasir and, after fighting down the urge to run and covering it up with the bullshit courage that came with alcohol, he’d dared to call it a pity date for a man who needed to move on from placing so much value in a stupid children’s tale. 

Nasir knew the term _soul-crushing_ and had used it in his works. He never imagined seeing it play out before him in real life. He deserved to be punched for that one, to have his beer thrown in his face, or some other overly dramatic act that would make it a good story to tell to Lucretia later. None of that happened though; Agron never played to type or command. He got real quiet, nodded his head, and asked Nasir if he’d finished before signaling for the check. He never demanded an apology, never bothered to defend himself or curse Nasir out. He’d been civil and Nasir felt _shamed_ in a way he never imagined possible. He still couldn’t believe two years after the fact, that Agron had forgiven, had accepted Nasir’s half-drunk, half-coherent apology. Nasir was extremely lucky Saxa decided to help him that night, rather than hinder his plans, as he called her up and literally wept his heart out. He knew he’d fucked up even as the words left his mouth, even as he couldn’t bring himself to apologize at the time. That was the thing about speaking; there were no first drafts. There was no deleting the words and rephrasing them once spoken. There was no preceding paragraph establishing a state of mind or setting the scene. There was just one scared asshole breaking the heart of another good man. 

Nasir hadn’t thought about the consequences of his actions in that moment. He’d forgotten that he’d grown used to a funny or insightful text message from Agron almost once an hour, as they’d done since they’d first met. He hadn’t thought at the time that as terrifying as falling that hard over the space of three weeks was, it was even more gut-wrenching to think of a life absent Agron. It wasn’t until later he realized his last words from Agron could very well have been that cold, low whisper of _I hope you have a good evening._

Nasir took a deep breath as he remembered they weren’t though. Agron’s words before he left this morning were warm and soft, mumbled into the bare skin of Nasir’s shoulder. His scruff left its rough evidence on the tender skin of Nasir’s neck as his lips maneuvered its familiar path from behind Nasir’s ear down to the hollow of his throat and back, as he told Nasir he loved him and not to waste the day away in bed. 

Nasir smiled as his rested his hand on the still tender and red patches. Most mornings he’d quickly break out the moisturizer and creams to dull their appearance, but not this morning, when the snow was piling up outside and Nasir was wrapped up in one of Agron’s shirts, his back resting against the cool glass panels of the window. His eyes strayed to the large bookshelf in the den. His books were on there, ones written by him and bought by Agron years before they ever met. Nasir liked to take them down sometimes, flip through them, find the things Agron had squirreled between the pages or the passages he’d underlined or the notes he made. (He had a whole set of pristine hardbacks locked away that no one could ever touch. Agron was murder on paperbacks though; each and every one he owned was held together by packing tape.) He never corrected Agron’s views or interpretations, but occasionally Nasir would go back and draw happy or sad smiley faces if he found something he didn’t like in Agron’s notes. He’d actually kept the first manuscript Agron had touched and, on days when Agron was at work for thirteen hours and loneliness ate at Nasir, he’d go back and run his fingers over the familiar swirls of Agron’s handwriting in the margins. 

Nasir slid off the window seat and flinched as he bare feet touched the cold hardwood floor. He started his usual walk through the house, the one he almost tortured himself with, as he imagined what it would be like to have all his possessions here. His office would fit perfectly in the small turret tower room, a trademark of the house’s Queen Anne style architecture. The light up there was perfect and Agron had left it empty, never finding a purpose for the room. The house had more guest rooms than ones Agron used. His workout equipment was all in the basement. The back shed had all his tools while the garage and hidden closet under the basement stairs were used for storage. Nasir’s old bookshelf could easily fit in that space in the hallway between the front room and the kitchen, a perfect place to display most of their picture frames. He’d finally have a place to put the heavy antique mirror his mother had insisted he take when he moved away for college. It would look perfect on the empty wall space of the second floor landing. He could finally buy that wardrobe he’d been eyeing for the past month. The only reason he hadn’t bought it was from lack of space in his apartment. They’d keep Agron’s headboard; Nasir preferred it to his own and he could probably force his bedframe on Duro. If nothing else, Duro would be out of an excuse for having his box spring and mattress resting on the floor.

Nasir paused at the threshold to Agron’s bedroom. He’d started to think of it as _theirs_ months ago. Nasir had his own alarm clock on his own nightstand which Agron had bought for him. There was Nasir’s notepad, full of late-night lines of dialogue and early morning ideas. The bathroom had Nasir’s toothbrush, his cologne, his hair oil, his shampoo, and his razor. Nasir once bitched about the rough quality of Agron’s towels and he’d gone out the next day and bought a new set just for Nasir’s use. Nasir already had his own space in the dressers and closet, but he’d refrained from bringing everything over. It was an assumption Nasir didn’t want to make, even though he highly doubted Agron would say anything. This was Agron’s _home_ , his own personal safe space, and even if Nasir was a welcomed long-term guest he wouldn’t dare take the importance and honor of asking that final question, that ever important _do you want to move in together_ , from Agron. 

“Hey,” Agron said from behind him.

Nasir nearly fell in surprise. He placed a hand over his heart as he turned around. “Fucking Christ, Agron. Why aren’t you at work?” He leaned up for his expected his kiss before he allowed Agron to answer. Agron tasted like coffee and cinnamon and Nasir’s stomach rumbled with the reminder he hadn’t had breakfast yet.

“At least you brushed your teeth,” Agron said with a frown. “At least I can look forward to brunch with you.”

“I was wanting for the Colgate to wear off before I attempted orange juice,” Nasir said.

Agron shuddered at the thought. “Good idea.”

His hands slid under Nasir’s shirt and rested on the bare skin of Nasir’s hips. They were warm even though Nasir _knew_ it was freezing outside. Agron was an actual human furnace and no one could convince Nasir otherwise. He loved it, always had, and sometimes just sat down next to Agron and pulled and tugged until this hands rested on him so he could feel that warmth.

“Why aren’t you at work again?” he asked as he rested his head on Agron’s chest. 

“Duro wandered in and begged to cover my shift. He doesn’t want to be alone with his thoughts right now, but he also doesn’t want to _talk_ about them. Leaving him in the store to mindlessly re-alphabetize all the music sections is the best thing,” Agron said. 

Nasir couldn’t criticize either one of them for burying personal problems under work. It was something Nasir was guilty of doing on his own.

“What’re you thinking about?” Agron asked. His fingers were gentle as he carefully pushed Nasir’s tangled hair back behind his ears. “You look serious.”

Nasir smiled into the soft feel of Agron’s t-shirt. “Just thinking how good that wardrobe would look in the corner.”

Agron’s low _hmmm_ vibrated though his chest and Nasir shivered at the feel. The small tug on the ends of his hair made him look up.

“Do you know what I think would look even better?” Agron asked.  
Nasir was speechless at the genuinely deep care and love in the green eyes that bore down on him. He could only shake his head in response.

“All your clothes in our closet and dresser. All your shoes lined up next to mine, though hell; they might need their own room since you have so many. Your pictures mixed in with my own. Your office upstairs and your stupid Pilates equipment downstairs.”

“You love what Pilates has done for me, don’t insult it,” Nasir said. 

“You need me to ask it, don’t you?” Agron guessed.

Nasir nodded even as his fingers clenched in the fabric of Agron’s shirt.

Agron grinned down at him. “Nasir, would you please move in with me?”

“Yes,” Nasir said. He wasn’t at all surprised to hear his voice choked up with emotion, but it was okay since Agron had happy tears in his eyes. 

Nasir didn’t really believe in the happy endings so often seen in books and films. He was always fascinated by what came after the _Happily Ever After_. He’d seen past his own, into a real life full of job-related stress and days too tried to even work up the energy to smile at each other much less attempt sex. True love didn’t mean you refrained from arguing over who finished the last of the milk or what was the better type of laundry detergent. It meant liking and loving someone at the same time even when you still wanted to maybe, sort of smash their head into a wall for a second. It meant putting up with screeching guitar sounds as an alarm clock and subjecting Agron to his half-crazed _I have a deadline coming so love me even though I am going to curse you out_ moments.

He was looking forward to discovering the rest of what was to come.


End file.
